“—Martin Luther King Jr. I tried calling Carla’s apartment throughout the morning. Donovan wasn’t a bother, but I did have deliveries to make to some of my families and wondered when Carla would come for him. We made cookies to pass the time. Donovan sat on the kitchen counter and mixed the batter with great flourish. “Maybe I can take cookies to Spaz,” he said. “Who’s that?” I asked, turning the oven to preheat. “He works with Mom and watches me. We play Spider-Man a lot. He’d love to eat t...hese.” “Well, take some to him!” Miriam walked through the front door and looked rumpled from a morning of watching workmen at her home. “Your hair’s all mixed up,” Donovan said. “Thank you,” she said, hanging her coat. “It looks like a cat’s been playing in it.” I stirred the batter and laughed. Miriam’s coiffed look had certainly come undone since she moved in. I said it was because she was finally feeling at home and letting her guard down.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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